


The Witch's Son

by cambion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Trigger Warning: Fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cambion/pseuds/cambion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://auroaronkitten.deviantart.com/art/The-Witch-s-Son-265624629">The Witch's Son</a> by Auroaronkitten.</p><p>In which Dean and Sam are hunters (witch, vampire, werewolf - you name it) and happen upon a village with a recently burned witch. The witch's son though remains - and the village doesn't seem all that distraught about it. The Winchesters begin a hunt, but things don't quite go to plan, resulting a bit more domestically than intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for historical inaccuracy and inaccuracy of witch practices - this is more just a fun AU than a full-on project, so there's likely a huge heap of inaccuracies.  
> I'm also unsure of when exactly I'll be updating - I have a loose plan for the rest of the story but need to solidify it. Thank you if you even read this at all!

The fire burned on a foggy morning. 

Whispers filtered through the village - _they_ were fog, permeating the people peacefully and without warning. "I can't believe it, I just can't believe it..." they murmured, a chorus in unison in their sorrow, yet in dissonance with their particular words.

The town square smelled of cooked meat and burnt hair.

"Well, she was a witch," they spoke, hesitantly - the hunters positioned on either side of the bonfire. The smoke raised from the flames, fleeting and weak, but the hunters - _they_ were smoke, with their ashen dirty clothes and their sullen bitter eyes. It was not out of safety that this fire was lit, it was out of the pursuit for revenge. This was a mere side effect of the witchhunt which spread to ever corner of the kingdom, after sisters were drowned in cauldrons for their hair and their bones, after women left their husbands for the moon and the stars, after villages upon villages became ill with the darkness plaguing the spirit of the land.

But this, this was no riot, no celebration of evil eradicated and snuffed out by the holiness of the Lord. There was no proud vengeance, no collective mob that praised the death of the witch with torches in their hands at night. This was a funeral service held at dawn, and there was respectful silence save for the mournful exchanged and the crackling of the flickering fire.

"Maybe it's better this way," a man spoke quietly, wringing his hands.

No one believed that.

* * *

 

Fog fills the woods and your feet are bleeding into the soles of your boots from your blisters. "We really need to get some new horses - I can't stand walkin' every damn place we go for much longer. Callouses only do so much," you grumble, though not really to anyone. Sam walks beside you, his longer legs in time with yours on the leaf-peppered path, but he's not listening. On mornings like this, when the air is quiet even from chipper songbirds and skittish deer, he never listens to you; he tends to lose himself in the forest. "How far up ahead's the next village anyhow?"

"Not much longer, we'll reach there by mid-day," he answers despite his lack of attention, head bobbing around distantly to keep eyes on the trees, on the trail. "Won't be a hunt though, heard someone got their witch just a week or two ago."

You stretch as you walk (your sore arms get release from the movement, but your feet still hurt like Hell and they feel no such justice), "Good, we could use a break."

It takes a bit more than mid-day, but by early evening as the sun fades behind whispy pink clouds, you make it into town. You take a seat in a tavern at the local Inn and sip some ale, chew some meat, curbing the burning hunger in your stomach and the scratching thirst in your throat. Sam walked off to get a room - shouldn't have taken too long, you're only staying two nights, tops, but he's been gone for quite some time. You look on over to see him, and you find that he's chatting his tongue off with a barmaid. Her hair is long and blonde like yarn made from gold, yet she's smiling at Sam like he's the goldmine in the room. You smirk a little - boy's been too lonely these days, it could do 'im some good. You take another swig of your ale.

He walks back over and sits beside you at the bar. "Got us put up for the night," he tells you methodically, and you grunt in return. Little to no conversation is made - it's unnecessary, you spend day in and day out together, don't exactly have much to talk about. You think about asking about that girl, but you don't want to dampen his spirits by teasing him - not yet, at least.

"It's a shame what happened to Anna," a voice from across the tavern murmurs, melancholy in his nature. "Can't get good tea like you could with her, that's for sure. Even traveling merchants just don't have the same stuff, you know?"

"Aye, aye, that's for damn sure," they agree, busting their mugs together - celebrating or mourning is difficult to discern. You watch the men with mild interest once you've finished you meal, waiting for Sam to finish his greens. It can be interesting to hear the town gossip, even if it's just about tea.

"You do know Castiel is still there, right?" the barmaid - the one Sam was hitting it off with - says as she gathers the empty mugs at the next-over table. "Her son? Those hunters didn't snatch him up like they did her. He's still doing business up on the hill and everything."

Oh, now they have your attention.

"Sammy, listen in on this. Witch talk." Sam adjusts himself as you did, facing them, just some, to catch their chatter - you can't help but wonder if he's just paying more attention to the barmaid than anything else, though.

"Doesn't feel the same, though, I guess," he gripes, looking up at her from a seat with a dismal smile. "How's he even still doing business, though? After... well, y'know." A grimace collectively reaches them all.

She nods sadly (they all do - a group in reluctant agreement of a community member lost). "I guess work is work, money's money. It's probably better than just leaving the whole cottage to go to Hell anyway - that'd just make it worse."

"I'll have to check it out, I guess." A small mutter of 'here, here'.

You look at Sammy, and sigh. "Guess we still got a hunt on our hands."

He nudges his cleaned plate aside with his knuckles. "I guess we do."

* * *

It doesn't take very much asking around the village to get directions to the old witch's cottage. "It's just north of town, right up the hill and around the bend," informs an excited young man with greasy hair and a toothy grin. "That boy up there's real nice, I'm sure you'll find just what you're looking for! I'm Garth, by the-" You and your brother walk away before he can get another word in.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd how, I don't know... peachy, everyone is about the witch and her son here?" Sam asks you as you trek up the hill, cleanly avoiding the large rocks in the middle of your path. "They must have some sort of spell over 'em," you grunt, adjusting your shoulders as if a snake had writhed over your spine. "I don't have a good feeling about it."

Sam neither agrees nor fights with you. That's how you know he disagrees but doesn't find the fight worth it. You suppose you don't find it much worth it right now, either, so you don't try to drag it out of him.

Sure enough, the cottage is just where the excitable guy - Garth, apparently - directed you. There are thick trees surrounding the stone building, their branches hanging low and as if they are about to fall into the roof. Smoke slithers out of the chimney in a dark streamline actively, and the front door is open, voices echoing out into the woods from inside. "Guess he's got customers?" You let out a breath of annoyed air, ambling into the cottage to get a look, your feet nearly falling into the rotten wood of the porch. The ceiling is high - it appears as two stories from the outside, but instead it is a tall and open building to accompany the profound mess of objects throughout it. Shelves after shelves line each wall, jars and bottles and books clogging them up, some well-loved by hands and some well-loved by dust. Bones (animal bones, if you're being rational - but you're a cynic, after all, so your mind immediately growls 'human') hang around the windows, candles burn as the sun prepares to set and a big black cat with dandelion yellow eyes sits perched on a high shelf. It hisses at you and you grimace.

There by the window sits a young man, lanky with a pipe hanging from his mouth as he speaks, a younger boy and his mother standing before him. "This should make your cousin's fever lighten, and his cough should disperse in the next few days," the young man speaks gently, kneeling to hand a small bag of herbs to the young boy. "Be sure to boil it well over your fire." His head nods seriously and firm, gripping the bag as if his cousin's life depends on it (which, although the description does not seem so serious, it very well might; at the very least, it does in the heart of the boy).

"Come on, Ben, we should be getting home now," urges the mother, before she smiles at the young man, sincere and tired in her thanks. "Thank you so much, again, you're always such a great help." She's beautiful, you notice - darker in tone, as if she's from the woods down south, and with long hair like the bark of the burnt up trees from last year's forest fires.

"It's not a problem," the young man affirms, a feather earring swaying as he nods. "Please come by again for anything you need." It's not until the boy and his mother leave that the man - presumably, the witch's son, Castiel if you remember correctly - regards you. "Hello, I am Castiel. how may I help you?"

You guard yourself, and Sam stands at attention, keeping a focused gaze on him. You intend to slice his throat right there, set him on fire at the floor of his own cursed home - a witch is a witch is a witch, no matter how much they help children or otherwise, he probably got the enchantment in the herbs by dealing with the Devil. It's unholy, and you are here to destroy it.

"Just - just looking around," Sam says suddenly - the usual cover for when you're unsure of what it is you're looking at. But this, this is obvious. He's a witch, for God's sake! "We're travelers, and heard you had an interesting shop up here."

He smiles - though it's not so much a smile, as it is a relaxation of his furrowed eyebrows and the quirk of a corner of his lips. "I'm honored the village still sees it that way," his tone is somber, and you don't like to dwell on the sentiment. "You may look around as much as you like, though be careful about touching - some things tend to, ah, jump out, if you aren't careful. Let me know if you need anything."

"Of course," Sam responds, all smiles and manners. He doesn't seem to even notice your animosity towards him, brushing you off as he starts to peruse the goods that Castiel has set out with little labels, marking how many gold or silver pieces for what.

After a few minutes of professional gazing on his customer's, the witch speaks up, "I have some food over the fire in the other room - I'll be back in just a moment once I've taken care of it."

"Take your time," you tell him, your smile insincere and your tone dry. He doesn't seem to notice - or, rather, care.

As soon as his feet skitter the front room, the door swinging behind him, you push Sam's shoulder and hiss at him, "What the hell was that?!"

He pushes back defensively, his expression resolutely surprised and taken aback, "What the hell was what?!"

"I thought we were gonna gank him!" you seethe in a stage-whisper, raising your hands in front of your chest dramatically. "Y'know, get the damn job done?"

"Dean, I - we just aren't sure about this one yet. We need to investigate more."

"What's there to investigate? A witch is a witch, Sammy - Hell, he wears bones like a necklace, he's got a damn pentagram necklace - granted, not inverted, but still! Don't tell me you're gettin' soft on me," and you know you shouldn't be persisting too much, the conversation is going on too long and Castiel will be returning any moment now. "Gettin' soft on the damn bitches - or well, son of a bitch, here - that took down mom? Took down dad?"

"Dean, not fair," he stares at you, his eyes made of stone. "I just - he doesn't seem bad, alright? What's wrong with a little tea and medicine?"

"I'll tell you what's wrong with-" you start, but the door swings back open, and the witch stares at you with raised eyebrows.

"Did you decide on any purchases while I was gone?" he asks, both your eyes wide and fixed on his entrance.

"Oh, uh - no, no, not yet. Do you have anything though for uh," Sam stumbles, despite not being the one of the witch's bad side in this scenario. That idea just makes you feel dirty. He makes eyes down at your shoes and then immediately flicks his gaze back up, "Blisters? Anything like that?"

"Oh yes, of course," he says almost immediately, heading to the other side of the cottage, his back turned to the both of you. You dig your elbow into Sam's side, rousing no response. Castiel turns around, taking some herbs and a mortar and pestle. "Just take this paste - once I've made it, of course - and rub it onto any blisters you may have, then lay clean bandages over the wound. It will fight infection and lessen the pain." He silently does the work, while you have an inner monologue about how if Sam thinks he's getting you to put that on your foot, no matter the lack of magic he seems to be doing on it, he's got another thing comin'. He quickly packages it up for you, handing it to Sam. "That will be ten silver pieces."

Sam gives a polite half-smile, forking the money over. "Thank you, have a good day."

The man nods, still giving his half-smile, "You, as well."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to have this be a way longer chapter but i've been taking forever to post so??? here's a short chapter hopefully they'll get longer in the future

Sam is gone that night.

You expected as much - though you guess, you kind of figured he'd at least give you some sort of heads-up instead of just fading off. It occurs to you that maybe you ought to be worried - in your line of work not knowing where the other is often proves fatal - but there's not much conspicuous about this town, it doesn't feel dark or ashen. Regardless, you're mostly pretty certain where he went - he slipped off somewhere during dinner, easy and quiet and without raising your suspicion, and you noticed the barmaid disappear soon after, grumbles heard all around the tavern. You wish you were getting as lucky as he was tonight, but hey - it's his turn this time around.

Oh well, if one of you's taking the night off, the other one's gotta stick to the job - no rest for the wicked, or well, people who deal with the wicked, anyway (sometimes they feel synonymous). It couldn't hurt to talk to more people about what all's been goin' on. It doesn't feel ominous but, in a way that's what spells out suspicion to you. Even the most peaceful community's have some town drunk that slices up little girls every few years and yet no one can seem to get him executed, every town has wives who starve their children while they indulge, every town has fathers who beat their families til they're stained like ripe appleskin. It doesn't have to go bump in the night for it to be evil, and although that's not your field, you can usually smell that kind of ugly in the air. Yet this - this all feels pure, and that's just too rotten-smelling for you.

The main street of the village is alight with lanterns and fires burning inside the town's stores and homes - most doors are held open by large stones, and those that aren't are constantly swinging to and fro with people flitting in and out of the buildings. Faces all around are bright, lit golden by the lights but given their warmth by their cheer and celebration simply of being alive. You think for a moment that maybe Sam isn't off rustlin' some bedbugs with a babe of a barmaid, maybe he's just enjoying the Home Sweet Home feel of the place. Both of those ideas seem equally banned from what you should be thinking about.

While you seam and swim your way through the moving crowd - it's not dense, just ever-flowing like the currents of a downhill stream - the eager guy from earlier approaches you, Garth, or whatever. "Hey, hey! Did you end up finding what you were looking for?" he belts excitedly, louder than he needs to and with a grin that stretches the skin of his face.

Your mind momentarily flicks to your foot, the blisters having lost their ache and sting.  "Yeah, thanks, it was all good." You give him a tight smile and try to nudge on past him.

"Castiel's a real great guy, isn't he?" he goes on regardless, seeming to not notice your disinterest. "I mean, I'm new to town compared to, well," he chuckles, "just about everyone else around here! I wasn't born here or anything. And at first I was, I don't know, pretty skeptical about the whole Good Witch deal. But it sure turned out good, didn't it?"

He's earned your interest for the sake of the case - even if his exuberance about it is a bit tiring for you. "What made you change your mind on it? Can you remember well or is it, sort of... I don't know, hazy?"

"Oh, I remember it, clear as a bell!" Well, there goes the forced mind-controlling-spell theory, but you'll keep waiting for something fishy - this town's gotta have some puddle to it if it's the last thing you'll believe. "See, quite a few years back, Ms. Braeden was pregnant with her little boy. The father'd run off obviously - it was a real tragedy, lots of talk around these parts about it - and she lived alone, she was fading toward the end of it, and fast. They said that was the reason that when Ben came out, he screamed and cried and then just like that - nothin'. He was dead and gone."

"Okay, okay, okay, you have to be joking, I came across her and Ben just this afternoon."

"That's him!" Garth exclaims, eyes wide and smile wide and round like a baby's. "Now," he pauses, smile resting and becoming more solemn. "Anna, she - Castiel's mother, that's who she was - she was Ms. Braeden's midwife. And I swear, after just a bit of her chanting and holding that baby in her arms, next to her pure heart, it was like magic - no, it was magic! That baby came right to life and it started screaming! She pulled him back from the veil, I'm sure of it."

"Isn't that kind of worrying though? Shouldn't what..." you need to say this in as least offending way you can manage. "The Lord takes, stay there?"

"Yeah, there was a lot of talk about that too," his eyes go to the side as he sighs. "But we waited for somethin' bad to happen - some karma, some bad omens, and nothing came. There were only blessings, only lives preserved and happiness given. They kept doing their work, and well," his lips are tight and it's the truest happiness you've seen in years, "things have just been bright around here, since then."

His story's solid, he seems certain, but it feels - weird, you just trust it, you don't buy (the worst part is that you totally do).

You talk to all sorts of folks all over town after that, and you expect sometime to get cross with you for sticking your nose into all their business, but no one does. They answer all your questions genuinely, to the best of their ability, and you're so fucking confused about it.

"Yeah, that Castiel, he sure works up all sorts of things, anything you ask - 'cept for curse or love potions, though. Goes against his morals or somethin' to mess with that mojo."

"My husband has this dog he just loves, but I felt down-right sick everytime I was around him - until Anna did a nice spell for me, now it's all gone! Can't thank that family enough."

"I asked them for a curse one time - I needed a guy gone and away from me, I knew he was out to kill me. But that kid just gave me this dumb lil' charm, said it warded off jealousy and darkness around you. Haven't seen the guy since."

"We all figured we were supposed to be grateful when the witchhunters came through, you know but, it just... it didn't feel right. It just plain wasn't no fair."

With each person it sounds more and more like they're trying to sell you something, and hell, maybe they are. Maybe you're considering buying.

You need a good night's sleep.


End file.
